


gravitationally bound

by akaiiko



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: In an AU Where S8 (Voltron) Wasn't a Dumpster Fire, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23045434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaiiko/pseuds/akaiiko
Summary: The Galra have traditions when it comes to marriage proposals.“The warrior replied: ‘All this and more. There is no world I would not conquer for you, no pain I would not bear for you, no horizon I would not cross for you. Beloved or death.’ The empress marked herself with the stars that were proof of her warrior’s love, and they were bound forevermore.”“That was romantic,” Shiro says. Quiet. Like he doesn’t want to disrupt the peace that’s fallen over them.“Mm,” Keith grunts. The universe has had enough of empires. But, he guesses, there’s something romantic about being given the stars. “Should be. They’re the origin of Galran mating vows.”The slow draw of Shiro’s breathing is enough to tell Keith that he’s thinking about something, probably harder than he should.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 484





	gravitationally bound

**Author's Note:**

> this was for the _per aspera ad astra_ zine, where it was og titled "gravitationally bound - conquered in your name." the zine was super gorgeous and i was very lucky to be part of it.

Keith’s gotten used to waking up from nightmares of other realities. He dreams of all the slipstream ways he could fall through the universe, where the only constant is loss, and it shakes something loose in him. On this night he wakes up with denial on his lips and terror in his bones.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Shiro asks, voice rough with exhaustion.

Unable and unwilling to offer up an answer, Keith nudges his nose more deeply between Shiro’s shoulder blades. The warm press of their skin and the steady thump of Shiro’s heart beneath his palm is all the reassurance Keith needs. All he can ask for.

Because he knows this—because they have a routine—Shiro finds Keith’s hand where it’s pressed against his sternum and tangles their fingers together. “Allura is alive. Honerva was defeated. The war is over.” Steadily he refutes each terrible reality that Keith’s encountered before, anchoring Keith back in _this_ reality.

Closing his eyes, Keith tries to add the memory of watching Shiro marry another man to that litany. That was another reality. Here, in this reality, he and Shiro are together. They’re in love. They’re not married.

With a shudder, Keith opens his eyes and tries to roll onto his back. Away from Shiro. But his hand is caught and when he tries to free himself Shiro holds on tighter.

“Baby.” The word carries just a hint of warning. _Don’t pull away from me_. They’ve fought about that, before, but Keith’s too tired to fight about it now. Quiet reigns for a moment before Shiro makes a peace offering: “Why don’t you tell me a Galran story?”

The last decaphoebs of peace and the rebirth of Daibazaal have let Keith immerse himself in the Galran half of his heritage. He’s learned the language and the history from diplomats, the battle tactics and the rites of passage from the Blades, and the fairytales from his mother. All of them he shares with Shiro.

“Mom told me this one,” he says. “Back in the abyss.” When he’d woken up from nightmares of battling Shiro in the cloning facility, his body trembling with leftover adrenaline and the certainty that he would choose death with Shiro over life without Shiro.

Though Krolia has never said as much, he thinks that she offered it as a kind of reassurance. To love as a Galra is to love through hardship and against death. In this, at least, he was not alone.

Exhaustion softens the edges of the world. Makes the dark room, lit only by the stars outside their viewport, feel close and secure. Keith lets the story spill out of him: a beautiful and powerful empress who could not find a mate worthy of her, a fierce and loyal warrior who promised to bring her the stars, and a hundred decapheobs of separation that could not dim their love.

The nightmare feels far away as Keith reaches his favorite part of the story. “When the warrior returned, she laid out a map with the thousand stars she had conquered in the empress’s name. ‘All this for my hand?’ the empress asked.” Shiro gives his hand a gentle squeeze. It’s enough to make Keith pause and nudge his nose against Shiro’s spine. “The warrior replied: ‘All this and more. There is no world I would not conquer for you, no pain I would not bear for you, no horizon I would not cross for you. Beloved or death.’ The empress marked herself with the stars that were proof of her warrior’s love, and they were bound forevermore.”

“That was romantic,” Shiro says. Quiet. Like he doesn’t want to disrupt the peace that’s fallen over them.

“Mm,” Keith grunts. The universe has had enough of empires. But, he guesses, there’s something romantic about being given the stars. “Should be. They’re the origin of Galran mating vows.” 

The slow draw of Shiro’s breathing is enough to tell Keith that he’s thinking about something, probably harder than he should. Better to wait him out as he thinks and rubs his thumb over Keith’s scarred knuckles. “You’ve crossed the universe for me.”

“Yeah.” Because he has. Because he would again. Because he wants them both to get at least three hours of consecutive sleep before their next shift on the bridge.

Shiro’s hand tightens over his. “I love you,” he says. Then he lets it go—which is good because this was just a fairytale, and unexpected because he never lets anything go when he’s thought about it this long.

“I love you too.” For Keith, already on the edge of sleep, that’s it. He doesn’t require proof of devotion. When he fell in love—standing on a tarmac while Shiro confessed that he was dying—he did so with so much simple knowledge. One day he would lose Shiro, and on that day he chose to love Shiro anyway. To have Shiro love him back is more than enough. It has to be.

* * *

Several phoebs later Keith stands in the on the largest landing pad on Daibazaal. Krolia stands beside him, her stance easy in comparison to his own tense rendition of ‘at ease.’ His fingers knot together as he watches a wormhole open. Allura’s work is flawless, as usual.

The Atlas comes in on a careful descent. Its hull is battered and scarred in a way it hasn’t been since the war. Testament to the battle it underwent half a universe away. “I’m going to kill him,” Keith says.

Krolia chuffs a laugh. “Why?”

Most everyone’s been reacting that way. Allura is the sole exception—patting his shoulder in a consoling manner whenever she sees him. Which isn’t much better. If Keith could contact the other Paladins he has a feeling they might be more understanding.

Lifting a hand up to shield his eyes from the glare from Daibazaal’s twin suns against the Atlas’s hull, he mutters, “Because he challenged the Vrekian Emperor to single handed combat instead of just blowing his damn ship out of the system.”

All this earns him is a considering hum. When he looks over, he’s not surprised to see that Krolia’s clearly biting back a smile. He just doesn’t _understand_.

The Galra recount Shiro’s challenge blow-for-blow over meals and in the hallways. They linger on the moment where the Emperor’s sword came down and Shiro blocked it with his prosthetic, muting a blow that would have cleaved his skull into one that simply sliced through his brow. Keith always feels vaguely nauseous when they tell that part.

“You should be proud,” Krolia says. He turns, ready to argue, but something in her face stops him. There’s a kind of contentment there that he’s not used to seeing. She cups his cheek. “He conducted himself well. He will make you a fine mate, kit.”

Keith inhales, unsure of what to make of her tacit blessing.

There’s no time to ask her. The Atlas sets down—a delicate landing, but one that rocks the ground beneath them nonetheless. It’s easy to see who’s attended an Atlas landing. They’re the ones who brace. As the crew begins to disembark, Keith rushes into the crowd.

Forget decorum or diplomatic relations. That’s his mother’s job.

Dodging around Galran representatives and Garrison crew, he keeps an eye out for Shiro’s distinctive hair. When he finally spots Shiro, he adjusts his trajectory and speed, navigating the crowd as easily as he does asteroid fields.

It doesn’t matter that all of three dobashes ago he’d been ready to strangle his boyfriend with his own two hands. Now all he wants to do is hold Shiro.

Shiro turns toward him with a smile as though he’d heard Keith call out for him. He looks tired and oddly rugged—stubble on his jaw and a barely healing cut through his brow—but he’s smiling, and he holds out his arms for Keith to jump into.

They collide hard. Keith grips the back of Shiro’s neck to pull him down into a biting kiss even as Shiro hauls him up with a arm around his slender waist. Armor digs into Keith’s ribs, but he ignores it in favor of softening the kiss into something that’s a little less teeth. People are whistling. It’s like they’ve forgotten that Shiro can still order them onto the worst shifts. Keith grins anyway and throws his other arm around Shiro’s neck in a blatantly possessive gesture.

By the time they pull apart, Keith’s calves are aching from being on tiptoe for so long. He pants and relishes the sting in his kiss swollen lips. Letting one arm slide from Shiro’s neck, he pats at the other man’s chest and says, “Don’t think you’re not still a dead man.”

Of course Shiro laughs. It’s a familiar, worn in sound that does more to reassure Keith than any number of carefully worded messages could.

Earlier he’d noticed that Shiro wasn’t wearing either his Garrison uniform or his Atlas flight suit. Now, hand still patting a little too forcefully at his chest, he finally realizes that Shiro’s wearing _Galran courtship armor_.

Keith blinks and spreads his fingers over the hardened black plates. Takes in the fur trim and the bared expanse of Shiro’s muscular forearms. Even the cape, which should look stupid but instead makes Shiro look like royalty. All at once the pieces click into place. The combat challenge, Krolia’s blessing, the traditional armor…

“You conquered an empire for me,” he breathes. Part of him expects denial, but instead Shiro ducks closer with a grin that’s equal parts shy and proud. The arm around Keith’s waist tightens, anchoring them together.

“I did,” Shiro says. Without taking his eyes from Keith, he reaches into one of the pouches at his waist and withdraws a small sphere.

A massive starmap springs into existence between them at the click of a thumb. The holographic projection, done in shades of lurid purple and blue, spins calmly. Proof of what Shiro’s accomplished in the last few phoebs.

Enchanted, Keith reaches for the starmap. Allows his fingertips to drift through the lights marking planets and stars and asteroid belts. Forget an empire. This is an entire galaxy, conquered in his name, and maybe he’s more Galran than he thought. “For me?” he asks again, almost too softly to be heard.

Shiro gently deposits the starmap into Keith’s hand, then presses a kiss into his hair. “For you.”

* * *

Marking him with a galaxy took almost two quintents and three of Daibazaal’s best artists. Asteroid belts circle his wrists and nebulae curl over his collarbones. Solar systems are scattered down his back, their spiral arms cradling his ribs and their elegant planets gleaming violet against his pale skin. Keith’s sore but pleased as he holds up a hand in front of the viewport.

Teal light from a nebula, one of the many conquered in his name, dances across his skin. Highlights its’ inked twin on his hand. Laid out on his stomach on their bed, he watches the galaxy pass by outside the viewport.

At least until the bed dips with Shiro’s weight. One hand, the prosthetic, settles next to Keith’s head. Shiro leans over him and captures his hand, lifting it up to press a soft kiss to the center of his palm. Like he hasn’t already laid permanent claim. “Enjoying the view, baby?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Keith says. Because he does. “But you didn’t have to do this.” What he means is _I was yours before this_. But he’s not surprised when Shiro doesn’t take it that way.

When Shiro pins him to the bed, broad chest to slender back, there’s a faint instinct to try to escape. It’s drowned out by the soreness in his new tattoos, an ache he can’t help relishing. Obediently, he lets himself be held down. Shiro rewards his submission with a kiss to his shoulder blade, right over the sun that marked the empire’s former heart.

“There is no world I would not conquer for you.” Keith tenses, all the languor from earlier fleeing in the wake of that vow. If Shiro notices, he does not say. Just offers another kiss, this one to the dip of Keith’s spine, where a traveling comet had been placed. “No pain I would not bear for you.” Another kiss, to the nape of Keith’s neck and the stellar remnant there. “No horizon I would not cross for you.”

Marriage vows, he thinks helplessly. These are marriage vows.

Gently, Shiro turns him over but keeps him pinned down. That’s good. Keith might drift away without anchorage. There’s no hesitation in Shiro as he kisses Keith, lips forming the words, “Beloved or death.”

Blinking through the sting of tears, he takes in Shiro’s face. The cut through one brow faded into a white scar in the healing pods. Roguish, in contrast to his gentle expression. Keith cups his face, thumbs swiping over high cheekbones, and feels his heart ache with having his whole universe in his hands. It’s surprisingly easy to offer up: “Beloved or death.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm clearing out the backlog of zine fics and completed twitter threads atm. pray for me now and at the hour of my inevitable expiration from exhaustion. anyway if you'd like to say hi i'm [on twitter](https://twitter.com/akaiikowrites).


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